


A Budding Friendship

by Resoan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Arlathan, Gen, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirthamen knows little and less of Fen’Harel even after he’s established as one of the pantheon, and there is only so much he can glean from contradictory stories told him by Falon’Din and Mythal. The Dread Wolf even still manages to defy his expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Budding Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on tumblr, and in honor of Solas Positivity Week.

It did not seem as though Dirthamen were able to tear himself away from his sanctuaries much anymore; there was always more he could glean from time spent in deep meditation, and there were  _always_  petitioners awaiting his wisdom should he deign to give it to them. 

Unlike many others of the pantheon who saw any petitioners who completed rites or trials in the god’s name, Dirthamen was more…discerning. Knowledge and wisdom were not simply divvied out like camp supplies, and there were many who came to him with nefarious intent and purpose. Regardless of how they might have outwitted the obstacles and trials Dirthamen himself created, he had sent dozens of elves away: even those whose resources and offerings in his name were wealthy and maintained the upkeep of his many shrines and temples across  _Elvhenan_. 

His flowing robes had instead been traded for something more practical as he traversed the landscape: tall sylvans and towering pines sheltering quiet, lazy brooks and knee-high grasses as green as the magic of the Veil. Squirrels scurried into the underbrush as Dirthamen passed by, and once, Dirthamen even came upon a bear - a massive, brown beast with several cubs following after her, though the god merely smiled in the creature’s direction. Of most animals in  _Elvhenan_ , the bear was one of his favorite - strong and silent, fierce but not foolhardy. They did not seek out conflict for conflict’s sake, but only when it needed food in its belly. The bear caught Dirthamen’s gaze for a moment before huffing out a grunt and leading her cubs away.

He had agreed to meet this Fen’Harel on neutral ground: where they both might feel more at ease, though Dirthamen wasn’t foolish enough to come unprepared. Magic sizzled at his fingertips, conjured as easily as he might a thought. For all he’d heard for Fen’Harel, though, Mythal’s assessment of him had been more flattering than Dirthamen had expected; Andruil had complained of him for nigh on  _days_  once, something akin to awe and irritation in her tone.

Falon’Din flat-out disliked him, though Dirthamen suspected it had less to do with Fen’Harel’s personality and more to do with outwitting Falon’Din himself. For all his brother was and could be, Falon’Din was sometimes blinded by his own hubris, and it seemed Fen’Harel knew how to manipulate well enough to use this knowledge to his own advantage. Thankfully, he had not caused any lasting damage as of yet. Falon’Din was many things, but he was still intricately tied to Dirthamen in a way no other was; even such proximity did not blind Dirthamen to his shortcomings, though.

It was then that Dirthamen paused in his step, several birds taking flight from a nearby maple dappled with early-spring colors; sharp blue eyes glanced around the small clearing, though the god relaxed after a moment, a hand lifting to smooth back long, inky-black locks from where they’d fallen against his collarbones.

“Do you intend to come out, or shall I try my hand at catching the wolf?” Dirthamen withheld his laughter, though his smile, halfway between a grin and a smirk, pulled at his lips nonetheless. A twig snapped underfoot as the wolf crept closer, grey fur shaggy and still heavy from the harsh winter that was just now loosening its grip on the land. Grey-blue eyes glittered with a sentient mischief when Dirthamen turned his gaze upon the creature, and in the blink of an eye, the wolf’s limbs had lengthened and straightened, the color of his fur darkening into a bright auburn as he stood and gave Dirthamen a once-over.

“You would never have been able to catch me,” Fen’Harel informed him with a grin, the light catching on his bared teeth. 

“I’m faster than you might think,” Dirthamen replied simply, the shrug of his shoulders scarcely even noticeable. 

“Oh?” Came the single syllable, and even then, it sounded like something of a challenge on the Dread Wolf’s lips. Fen’Harel shifted his weight from one leg to the other, almost  _anxious_  if Dirthamen were to hazard a guess, and when the god turned his back and shifted back into his animal moniker, the keeper of secrets threw his head back and laughed - as he had not done in quite a long,  _long_  while.

His transformation was perhaps not as seamless as Fen’Harel’s, but he had not worn the skin of an animal in some time, and the scent of the other was an easy trail to follow on the air.

Dirthamen lost track of how long he remained in the wilds, getting to know this Fen’Harel and trading bits of information and wisdom, but one thing Dirthamen did know was how very much he enjoyed himself, and how rarely he was able to do so anymore.


End file.
